Deanuh?
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: //Wincest// Dean visits gypsies to fix his car. One gypsy in particular gives him an interesting lesson. //genderswap. angst. incest//
1. Gypsies and their magic

Nicholas: Part one of two. An apology to Becki because I was a bitchy person for a while there. Anyway, this is my first fic in this fandom. AMAZING!!! GOtta love it. This takes place sometime in season one and it's slightly AU.

Disclaimer: It's Becki's fault. Don't sue me. I just love the series.

Rating: M...language...twisted-ness...future wincest...future sex...maybe slash, but fo sho het.

* * *

I had no idea why we were there. Sam claimed that it was necessary as far as the car problem goes, but I knew that whatever could be wrong with the Impala, I could fix it. What the hell could a bunch of gypsies do that I wasn't able to? Of course, I went along with Sam's antics for his sake, even though these people scared all living hell out of me. Especially that lady sitting at a table on the edge of camp; she kept looking at me weird. I wanted out of here, this eerie place. These people lived on the edge of natural and supernatural. There are too many things chilling my spine with the breeze and the quiet moans of what may be and what shouldn't exist. Fuck this, I needed out.

Sam knew it. That's why he put his hand on my knee like that. It's slightly embarrassing, but hey, he cares. Still…I shoved him away and continued to glare angrily at the rundown, harshly taken care of caravan in front of me. "Calm down," he muttered, "They're almost done."

"Yeah, with something completely unnecessary. Man, I can't stand the thought of them messing with my car."

"Dude, let it go."

Hah, nice try. "It's killing me!"

His hand knocked against my skull to shut me up and I let it go. I knew that his intentions were good but…my _car_! "It's okay. They won't do anything horrible. All they're doing is getting rid of the curse that _you_ instigated."

"Don't you dare blame me for this." I scratched a stubborn itch on the back of my head and continued to sneer at the ground as if it were the dirt's fault. "I'm not the one who decided to go poking around everywhere and Denmark in the first place, so don't give me your shit."

"You," called a soft, low-pitched voice. For a woman, she sure had a strange tone. I looked up to see that odd lady at the edge of the camp with her hand raised towards me. "Come here." No way, nu-uh. If there was one thing that I learned from Dad, it was "don't go near the creepy lady that everyone else is avoiding and who flat out tells you to go near her."

After a moment of defiant staring, I felt Sam elbow me in the side just sharply enough to make me mad. I reached up to smack him, but he grabbed my wrist and pushed it away. This was just horribly infuriating and…that damn breeze was making me shiver again! "Knock it off!" I snapped. That smirk on his face was having a field day on my temper. "Don't you even try to tell me to go over there."

"Go over there and see what she wants."

"You go and see. I'll be fine here not having my brain molested by a psychic with tarot cards."

"You'd rather be bugged by your car being molested then?"

I raised my eyes to be level with his and tried to eject beams of how much disdain was bubbling up to my throat. I needed sleep like three weeks ago and this damper on my mood couldn't possibly do more to piss me off. "Really? Go over to the creepy old lady so that she can tell I'm going to die a horrible, fucking, death with a chain around my neck and hot, burning embers shoved up my ass."

"Shut up, jerk."

"Bitch."

He shoved me with what felt like all of his strength until I actually fell off the metal chair into the dirt. For the first time in a long time, I didn't want to fight him about it. I was too tired…and there was this rock in my shoe. I wanted it out, but there was no way I was getting tetanus by taking my shoes of out here. "Fine, but you owe me."

The creepy woman beckoned me forward again and I pushed myself up with this eerie sense that I wasn't doing it myself. With a few short steps—a lot less than it seemed like it would take—I was right in front of the table, staring into dull gray eyes of an old, haggard woman. "Sit," she demanded softly. I found myself falling into a wicker chair that I didn't know was there until I hit it.

"What are you doing to me?" I knew something was up before I actually registered it. In this line of work, strange sensations are never ignored.

"I'm not doing an'thing. You want t'be 'ere, but you won't tell y'self that."

That creepy little voice…I realized that this wasn't air that chilled me like this. That shiver in my spine was because of her. She had this aura of something dark and menacing and I wanted to leave. "You have no idea what you're talking about, lady. There are a million places that I'd rather be."

"But y'are curious 'nuff to want t'be 'ere. I need some o'your skin."

I was sure I didn't hear her right, so out of impulse I leaned forward. "I beg your pardon?" my tone may have been a little snappy. My bad…

Suddenly, her hand flashed across my face and this stinging gash opened up on my neck. It didn't seem like it happened for a moment; until I reached up and touched it and felt it bleeding, I was convinced I hadn't seen anything like that. "What the fu--?"

"Watch y'language." As she brought her hand down to the table, she never took her eyes of her long nails were there were sizeable clumps of his flesh stuck between white and pink. "I can tell y'what yer mind cannot."

Who the hell was she to assume something like that? some supernatural freak with too long finger nails and mismatched eyes? They are mismatched eyes; they are brown and gray. Wiggy…but this bleeding sore on my neck was more important. "Listen up here, Madame DuBois, I don't buy this mystical bullshit. And don't take this the wrong way, but that last thing I want is a woman to tell me what I'm thinking." I muttered something resembling that I don't even know what I'm thinking half the time, but I didn't want her to hear it.

"Which is why I will tell ya, boy."

"Don't call me boy, bitch."

Her hand—the one not covered in Dean DNA—slammed down on the table and gripped tightly to his wrist. "Have some respect. Y'respect yer father and y'find yer manners among da pretty little creatures in diners and road stops. Y'are not a bad man, Dean Winchester, jus' misguided."

"Don't look at me like that. It scares me…" Why did I just say that? I glanced down at her hand on my arm. The grip was getting very cold. "How do you know who I am?"

"E'en yer darkest secrets, you cannot hide. I 'ave dee truth in mine eyes."

That sting on my throat was getting worse and her nails dug into my arm like a bear trap. Believe me, I got my shoulder caught in a bear trap when I was fifteen. Dad flipped clear off his rocker. Wait! Stay focused! "Let me go."

"No. I will fix these things."

"Let me go, or I will fix you."

She gripped tighter and my heartbeat slammed in my eardrums. My lungs wanted to stop working as though something big and hard slammed into me at twenty miles an hour. The brown eye had switched with the gray eye, but why did I notice? "Get off me, you fucking PMSing psycho."

Another grasp fell on me from behind, claws digging into my shoulder; I freaked out a little. My heart pounded against my skull and I swatted away whatever grabbed me. My mind was so messed up with the feeling I got being around this gypsy that I barely realized that it was Sammy behind me. "You alright?" he asked skeptically.

I took a deep breath and turned to glare at the lady again, but she was already gone. My arm was still on the table where she'd held it, but she was limping away from the table on a walking stick tucked somewhere underneath her tattered, old dress. I was fine; the chill was gone, my breath came back and my heart started to settle down. Abruptly, I reached up and felt my neck, but the cut was gone. I cleared my tight throat before speaking. "I'm fine."

* * *

It was a nice night for sleeping. Most nights are good nights for sleeping unless you happen to be nocturnal, but that night was particularly restful. I didn't know why until I woke up, but at the time that was the last thing I wanted to do. Even after I'd gone from sleep to just dozing in the light of morning, I did my best to stay unconscious. I hadn't felt that good for a long time. Pulling the motel pillow against me, I buried my face in it to block out the light coming in through the curtains.

Then, Sam had to start shaking my shoulder, trying to get me up. Why did it have to end? Why does it always come to an end? "Come on, dude, get up." No…I didn't bother answering. I just groaned and turned onto my other side. "Dean, what the hell?" That didn't sound like frustration with my stubbornness. That was surprise. I didn't care, I wanted to go back to sleep. "Did you shrink, or something?"

"The hell, you say?" I still kept the pillow against my face in case he was bullshitting me.

"And you've been sucking helium…?"

Now I cared. He was right, that didn't sound like me. "That isn't my voice," I stated obviously. Turning onto my back, I pushed the pillow away and looked up at Sam. "What's going on?" That was too high-pitched to be me.

Sammy's eyes went wide and an eerie smile spread across his face. "Holy shit," he muttered.

"What?"

"I'm going to guess it's you, Dean. That's your necklace, but…" He was looking at me weird and I didn't like it. Add to that, he wasn't making any sense.

"Sammy, you better start telling me what's going on here or shots will be fired."

"Should I start calling you Deana now?" Why was he laughing? What the hell was going on? I shoved him slightly and started to get out of bed. "Where's your dick, dude?" That's about when I stopped. My body went rigid and I stared wide-eyed at him.

Where's my…? I looked down; that was the biggest mistake I ever made. No way, no way, no _fucking_ way! Abruptly, I grabbed the crotch of my boxers and heard the most embarrassing, alarmed squeak come out of my throat. There was nothing there. "Holy _shit_." I wasn't sure if I was breathing or gasping for air. "I've been neutered."

Sammy was still snickering and staring at me. "This isn't funny! What the hell happened to me!?" When he just shrugged and grinned wildly, I wanted so badly to hit him. "Bitch!"

"Jerk." Finally, he turned away and tried to smother his laughter. "Just calm down."

"No I won't _calm down_!" I got up and ran to the mirror on the bathroom door. This was just wiggy. Fucking _freaky_. I was short, my shirt and shorts were way too big for me. My face was a lot thinner than I remember, I had full lips…wait a tic…I pulled my shirt off and my heart almost stopped. "Sammy…"

From behind me, I heard him clear his throat. "I can see, Dean…"

"I have tits."

"I noticed…can you put your shirt back on now?"

"You know what? That fucking gypsy did this to me. 'I will fix dese tings,' yeah right you fucking whore! She turned me into a chick!" I stopped abruptly and gazed into the mirror. Firm, round breasts with perky nipples stared back at me. "She did a pretty good job, though." I had to admit, I looked good for a woman.

"Dean!" Sam snapped, "that's just weird."

"What? Now I can look at myself naked." Hesitantly, I touched them, a little unsure that I wasn't going to get smacked for it. "Still…I'm a chick…This is freaky…"

"Understatement," Sam giggled from his bed across the room.

"Dude…does this mean I have to wear a bra now?" I didn't need him to answer and he didn't bother anyway, but…Damn it, I was fine. That was the scary part. I was a chick…I was a _chick_! "Fuck…I have boobs and it sucks."

Once more, Sam cleared his throat from behind me and I knew he was still trying not to crack up…that asshole. "Holy shit, I have a sister." I didn't grace that with a response. "Well...look, if you think it was that psychic lady and this is some curse, I can look into curses to fix this. Or maybe we can go back and find her."

"Don't be stupid Sam, gypsies don't hang around anywhere long. We'd be looking for the next five years for these people." I bounced a little and my breasts jiggled. It was one of the weirdest things I've ever felt, I think, but it looked cool in the mirror.

"Can you stop molesting yourself for three seconds?" Shut up, Sam. I couldn't help it, it was fun. "Until we figure this out, I guess I can get you some clothes. Yeah, you'll need a bra and…smaller…underwear." He laughed. I guess he couldn't contain it, but he started shrieking with laughter and I was _so close_ to kicking his ass, female or not.

"Ha, ha, ha. Yeah, laugh it up, chuckles." I went into the bathroom to get away from his loud, piercing laughing.

"You know you'll have to shave your legs now!" he called. Hilarious, isn't he? Mother fucker…

* * *

I was staring in the mirror for maybe an hour before I realized for the fifth time that I was looking at myself. This face looked so different than me, yet startlingly the same. Just as easily, I could have believed I was looking through a window at my long-lost twin sister. Still, that would be weird being that I still wasn't wearing a shirt. Don't say anything. I've never got to flat out stare at a pair boobs this nice before.

I'm a bit vulgar, I admit that. I'm also a bit pissed off, which is not hard to express at all. Last night I was freaked out and tired and just plain unhappy. Now I get _more_ freaked out by losing my dick and gaining large, soft, firm breasts…To tell the truth, I actually thought for a moment that it was an even trade. Then I wanted to smack myself in the face for being an idiot.

At first, I was completely comfortable with sitting on the floor of this dingy motel room almost completely naked; I started to feel awkward after a while. Goosebumps rose on my shoulders, my unusually soft skin quivered and I wanted Sam to hurry his ass up. "SAM!"

"What?" I heard his key in the lock and turned myself around without standing up.

"Did you get me clothes?"

I tried not to snicker when he came in. As soon as he saw me, he looked away and I saw him blush. "Come on, man. It isn't like you've never seen a naked woman before." Only when I saw the paper sack in his hand did I move to stand.

"I have never seen my _brother_ as a naked woman before," he clarified, tossing me the bag. It said "thrift mart" on it. I think I made a sour face—I meant to—from the thought of wearing underwear bought at a thrift store. "Don't complain, _please_. I didn't have a lot of cash on hand, and I forgot to bring a fake credit card so—"

Tossing the bag on my bed, I dumped it out. A few shirts, both a sports bra and a regular one, two pairs of jeans, a skirt and some pairs of women's boy-shorts. I picked up the skirt and tossed it at Sam's head. "_That's _not funny." All I heard was his quiet snickering. "And what the hell were you thinking getting underwear at a thrift store? That's a yeast infection waiting to happen."

He stopped in the middle of opening his laptop and struggled for a moment to control his twisted sense of humor. "Yeast infection?" he asked after a moment.

Really? It is a cold day in hell when I find something that I know that my brother doesn't. All I did was roll my eyes and look away. "You know, you're knowledge of the female body is alarmingly little, Sam." Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, I picked up a pair of underwear and it occurred to me that some woman probably wore these at least once. Cool…

Sam started up his computer and for a while he just typed and clicked and such. Then he made a face and looked at me. "God Dean, your knowledge of the female body is disgusting."

With a smile, I pulled my boxers off—they were _way_ too big for me now—and pulled on a pair of those shorts. "You looked it up, didn't you?" I laughed blatantly at him. "Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam typed away and clicked on his laptop while I dressed myself. "Dean, this is like the biggest mess you've gotten us into since that 'Journey' incident."

"Hey, I love that song."

"'Don't Stop Believing' may be a great song, but that was almost as strange as this. Karaoke never ends well, anyway."

"Hey, it was fun," I snapped, "And don't bitch to me, I woke up a woman." The shirts he got me may have fit, but they weren't worth getting dirty in. I went to my duffle bag and pulled out an undershirt. The thing was huge on me. "Why do I have to be so little now? Not all women are this tiny." I reached around and tied a knot in the back of the fabric so that it was tight around my stomach.

The chuckling that emitted from Sam's general direction, I tried to ignore. "Maybe this is the female version of you and since women, on average, have a smaller build than men, you end up…miniscule." I mimicked his giggle and shook the bag out once more for the pair of sneakers that tumbled onto the floor. "Hope those are the right size. I had to guess."

They looked too small, but they fit just fine over socks that were too big. "Ah jeez, I have small feet now, too."

"And you know what they say about small feet, don't you Deana?"

"Shut up, you prick."

* * *

I was going to check on my car, just in case the fucking gypsies pulled something weird with my baby. Before I even popped the hood, I opened the trunk and checked the hidden compartment. At a glance, I took inventory and everything was there, but I double checked a few times just to be sure. One can never too careful, especially with folk like gypsies. Next, I checked the seats for any unwelcome surprises. The dash board was in order and my glove box hadn't been opened. I could tell because they wouldn't have gotten it closed again if they tried. Everything looked good that far. With a pause just to add suspense, I popped the hood and went around to lift it. That was about when I heard that whistle behind me.

"Hey, sweetheart." I turned around to see some shmuck with a bottle of who knows what wrapped in a paper bag in his hand. He was talking to me. "Car trouble?"

Trying to control myself, I remembered over and over again that I looked like a woman and that he didn't know I wasn't so it wasn't his fault. Even if he did, judging by the bottle and the slight swagger in his stance, he wouldn't have cared. "Does it look like car trouble? I'm in a parking lot." I ignored him further and turned my back.

"Pretty girl like you shouldn't get your hands dirty." Okay, prick, shut up if you know what's good for you. "You don't have to be so rude, either."

He was getting closer, and I realized that being that I was so much smaller, I was probably a lot weaker than usual as well. Now wouldn't be a good time to be caught off guard, and I'll tell you, being hit on is one step off guard. I glanced over my shoulder and tried to muster a smile. "I'm just fine with getting my hands dirty, thanks." That guy was too close for comfort. My teeth gritted beyond my control. "Come any closer and I might have to tear your throat out."

With a blink, he stumbled back a step and I felt slightly better about myself than I had when I woke up this morning. "God, you're a bitch." I wished I had a knife or some sort of threatening object to make his run away pissing himself.

"You have no idea. Now, get the fuck away from my car."

"Can't help it, it _is _a nice ride." He reached out to touch and I respectfully reached out to break his hand. I was surprised when I was able to overpower him and kick him to the ground so easily. Maybe I didn't lose my strength after all. I stuck my heel in his back and twisted his arm behind him.

"This Impala is mine. Touch it, I'll kill you in the most gruesome way I can think of."

Out of impulse, I looked up and saw Sammy in the window of our room, looking at me with raised eyebrows. There was something strange in his gaze that I didn't quite understand. I hadn't seen it there before and it gave me chills. Then the curtain fell back across the glass and I couldn't see him anymore, but the feeling was there. I felt almost as though I had been caught doing something bad and the teacher was just giving me that leering glare that meant I was in for a beating. I let the shmuck go and slammed my trunk shut.


	2. The glory of intimacy

Nicholas: Chapter two of three. This was supposed to be Becki's birthday present, except I fail at life and couldn't finish it until now. So here it is finally. Happy late b-day, Becki!!!

* * *

_People are strange,_ Dean thought. Actually, he was singing in his head. Or rather, _her_ head. I suppose "she" would be a more fitting pronoun in this most unusual of situations. It isn't every day that a man changes gender against his will in the time span of one night. So, _she _was singing in _her_ head. _People are strange, when you're a strange. Faces look ugly when you're alone._

The thing was, she wasn't alone. Dean had a brother, always has had, always will have, and together they'd figure this out. Sam claimed to have some lead and was trying to be hopeful and enthusiastic; in all honesty, he was either trying too hard or he was still stifling laughter. For the third time that evening, Dean heard her brother demolish all traces of a snicker from the air. "Dude, what are you laughing?" she asked angrily.

"You're humming the Doors," Sam muttered. His voice was restrained behind a tight _not laughing_ throat. "I think the increase in estrogen levels is messing with your music preferences."

Wide eyes glanced over a small shoulder and long, thin fingers gripped the steering wheel. Dean looked at him two different times before she said something about it. "Damn it, Sammy," she growled, "One more word out of you and I will kick your ass six ways from Sunday. Never mind me being a woman, don't make me pull this car over. I am not happy. I've been female for three days already."

Sam cleared his throat and nodded. "You're right, I shouldn't laugh. It isn't as though this is hilariously poetic or anything."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying," Sam clarified, waving his giant hand nonchalantly. "Think about how many times you actually got shot down by a woman, but kept badgering her. Can you say harassment? Now you'll probably get to know how it feels." He ruffled his hand through his hair and the corners of his mouth raised a bit to Dean's dismay. "Not to mention how the minstrel cycle feels."

Dean started slightly, now officially alarmed. "Shit, do you really think I'll have a period?"

Loud bursts of shrieking laughter arose from the passenger seat and Sammy grabbed his pained side to control himself. How he could laugh at something like this was really beyond Dean. "That's low," snarled that feminine-yet-still-clearly-Dean voice. "If you value your manhood, I'd shut up if I were you. I'll have you castrated more permanently than I was. I still can't believe you got me to wear the skirt." The last part was mumbled.

"Oh come on," Sam began breathlessly. He took the time to collect himself before going on. "Lighten up, it looks good on you. Listen…There's no such thing as a curse with no cure."

"God, you make it sound like I'm diseased."

"I'm just saying that if this gypsy did this then she can, without a doubt, undo it." Hesitantly, he reached over and touched Dean's petite shoulder. "Look, I promise I'll fix this, okay?"

Rolling her eyes, Dean shook off his hand. It was a nice promise, but there was no guarantee that it _could_ be fixed, so she just decided that Sam's blond hope would be a good anchor. "Oh jeez," she muttered, "Stop with the heart-felt, gooey crap. Just because I don't have a dick doesn't mean we have to paint each other's nails and swoon over today's hot guys, alright?" _No emotional downs,_ said the male voice in her head. That at least was comforting. "Now, where are we going again?"

"I found the man who owns the trailer park that the gypsies stayed in the other night. So, even thought they weren't there, maybe this guy knows where they went."

With a sigh, Dean pulled onto the little residential street in the middle of nowhere. "I just don't get why you think we'll be able to find them. Gypos are masters of going and staying gone. They are better than the damned when it comes to covering their tracks." Following Sam's directions, he pulled up just barely into a driveway and threw the gear into park. "I doubt this guy will know anything. What's his name?"

"Jerry Smith," Sam replied, combing a hand through his hair. Glancing at Dean, he grabbed his brother-turned-sister before she opened the car door. "Dude, you look like shit."

"So? We aren't going to a friggen ball."

"Shut up." With a quick movement, Sam smothered the top of Dean's head with his massive paw and fussed up his hair a bit. Then he smoothed down the back until it stayed in place. All the while, he had a tight grip on the other's wrist to hold him still. Maybe Dean still had some of her former strength and agility, but she couldn't get free from Sam's iron grip no matter how hard she tried. "Stop moving."

"Oh for crying out loud!" Flailing wildly, she smacked him away and threw herself out of the car—almost going through the window before she even opened the door. "When I'm a guy, I can go anywhere looking like I haven't seen a brush in my life. Yet somehow being female dictates that I have to look nice?"

Getting out of the car, Sam shrugged and scratched his nose idly. "Yup, guess so." He circled the car and walked with Dean up to the house. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

For a moment, Dean faltered in her pace. Confused-yet-pretty eyes stared at him for the longest time before she could figure out how to respond to that. Since when did it matter that Sam might have made him "uncomfortable." He did that just by sweating like a baked onion wherever they went. Still, Dean didn't respond to that. "Come on," she snapped.

When they knocked, Dean was adjusting herself to the exaggerated loss of height in comparison with her brother. It was a hard thing to some to grips with being that she was already short for an older brother. Standing as straight as possible, she made up for just barely an inch. This was slightly embarrassing. For a moment, she wondered if they would buy an older sister being _this _petite. Apparently they didn't have to. When the door opened and the man asked Sam did the talking.

"Hi, my name is Sam and this is my girlfriend, Deana."

She almost choked on her own bodily secretions. Too late, she would have to go with it. With a smile, Dean stepped a half-step closer to him and patted his arm in a way that she hoped looked affectionate without actually having to get all cuddly on her brother. _Note to self_, the man in her head stated, _Kill Sam._ "Hi," she said nonchalantly.

"Yeah?" The guy at the door looked like a mixture of Latino, Russian and "fuck off." The last thing he seemed to be in the mood for was two strangers interrupting his day. "So?"

Sam cleared his throat, uncertain whether he should be afraid that Dean went with the cover he'd thought up. He wasn't quite sure why he'd deemed it necessary to not go with siblings, but it was too late to change his mind now. He just had to go with the flow and pray that Dean was okay with that. "Yes, well," he started off, only slightly shaky. "We just…The other night, we passed through a trailer park near here. There were a bunch of people and we…uh…"

"We were just wondering if you knew anything about them," Dean saved him despite the nagging voice telling her _He didn't deserve that_. "We thought they would be here today, but they seemed to have up and disappeared." She wasn't sure how women spoke to people, so she went with her own way.

"Yeah," Sam muttered, trying to redeem himself.

_Amendment to note to self: Ask Sam what the hell is going on with him, then kill him._ With Dean's calm, smooth talking, they were invited inside. She couldn't begin to wonder why Sam seemed so uneasy and unfocussed today. He was just acting all sorts of weird today. Even the way he walked was something off the regular swagger. There were two explanations for this. Sam was being weird because Dean was female. OR! Dean, being female and thus more attentive to male flaw, has notice just how weird Sam really is. She was quite proud of the observation.

The house on the inside was unexpectedly cozy for a home owned by a greasy, old man. The stereotype usually held true, but in this case, there was no clutter and mess and lack of a woman's touch. Once they hit the living room, Dean saw why. Tall, thin and beautiful stood in the room, staring at the shelf. Well, she was tall to Dean, which meant she was an average-sized woman. Either way, when she turned around and faced them, she revealed a tight-fitting shirt that did little to hide the curves of well-shaped breasts. Of course, Dean tried to hide the fact that he found this interesting. Unfortunately that included flat out not looking. Being a woman sucked.

The two of them stopped respectfully until the lady smiled and motioned them in. "I didn't hear the door?" she said sweetly, "Who are these kids, Jerry?"

"This is Sam and his girlfriend Dean," Jerry said flatly. He held no interest whatsoever for his guests. "The were asking about the Gypsies on the property. The one's who up and left last night without so much as a dime to pay for their stay."

The woman made an understanding, sighing sound and nodded thoughtfully. A part of her expression looked amused or a bit excited. "My name is Holly Smith. Excuse my husband; he can be a bit gruff at times." She shook Sam's hand but completely ignored Dean as she would a fly on the wall. "If you are wondering about Gypsies and rogues, I'm sure the person you would want to be talking to is our daughter."

Jerry rolled his eyes and wandered aimlessly out of the room muttering something about their back yard. Holly just kept a smile on her face. "My husband finds our daughter's hobbies a bit eccentric," she explained. For the first time, she looked from Sam's tall stature down to Dean and her smile faded slightly. "You're welcome to talk to her, but she doesn't associate with men."

Blinking awkwardly, Sam shrugged and nodded. "Alright," he conceded, "Deana?"

Grimacing, the man who was currently a woman forced a strained smile and agreed. "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to her."

"So long as she doesn't mind, I'm sure it will be fine."

* * *

For some reason unknown to the world around her, Alec kept to herself in a trailer on the edge of her father's park. The old motor home was pretty big for a young girl's place, but it was a bit run down as though no one took care of it. Holly's directions had been a bit odd. "Straight across the field under the giant oak." The tree hid the old hunk of metal almost completely behind its massive trunk.

Brown eyes watched from the crack in the curtain of the front window as Dean approached. Her first thought was that something was off about this potential creature approaching. Just before the lady knocked, Alec slipped the lock to the side and opened the door. "What are you?"

A chill ran up Dean's spine and she shuffled where she stood. "Um…human," she stated confidently, "What're you?"

The door opened just a bit wider to reveal a thin, pale-skinned, tall woman. She was obviously young but had an unaverage height. "Drink," she demanded, thrusting out a metal tin of liquid.

Taking the bottle carefully, Dean smirked. "Holy water?" she asked assuredly. The hermit of the trailer park nodded. With a shrug, she took a swig and gulped it down. "Convinced?" The bottle was passed back through the door. After a slight hesitation, the door opened all the way and let her in. "This is the last place I would expect a hunter to hole up."

Alec checked the surrounding area quickly before she closed the door and pushed the lock into place with a deafening click. Dean didn't really like the sound of that but she didn't complain. She was too distracted by the immaculate state of the place. Everything was neat and tidy, most welcoming as opposed to the outside of the place. There was no evidence of her apparent occupation, but that didn't keep Dean from looking. She tried not to make her curiosity obvious, but most hunters noticed things like this.

"I don't fight with weapons," Alec explained. Her hair tied back behind her head swayed in a brown flourish as she walked past the stove and count to the short hallway. "All I want is to be safe. If ghouls, ghosts and demons don't bother me, I won't bother them. So, what can I do for you, Dean?"

Catching her breath in her throat, Dean stepped back cautiously. _Why does it seem like women know everything about me?_ the male voice in her head grumbled. "How did you know--?"

"I asked the right people," she stated, motioning to the counter by the door. Dean looked and saw a stack of tarot cards lying on a folded cloth. "Hunters aren't too hard to follow. They stir up trouble with the spirit world and all I have to do is ask who is coming to me. So I ask again, what can I do for you, Dean?"

"Well…Since you seem well-versed in who I am, you should know what you can do for me." Spreading her arms, she motioned to the form and body that wasn't hers.

Alec chuckled lightly and opened her hall closet. From her position, Dean couldn't see what she was sorting through, but it seemed like the woman fit half of her massive frame into the cabinet. The other searched for a while through what must have been an abundance of stuff, and then emerged with a book. "Looks like Nina," she commented more to herself than anything else.

Approaching once more, she motioned Dean to sit down on the couch at the back of the trailer and then she sat down beside her. "Gender swap. You must have pissed her off." The leather binding of the old tome crackled and popped in protest as the cover folded back. It was a joint loosening to come back into action after years of disuse. "This gypsy, she walked with a limp?"

Dean nodded, remembering the cane that the old woman had had to use. "You know what she did to me, then?"

Nodding ominously, Alec scanned a few pages. "She wants to teach you a lesson. Perhaps you disrespected her in some way." Wandering fingers and eyes landed at length on a blank page. "Judging from what I've learned of you, I'm certain that you said something trying to be masculine and she decided to knock you own a peg." Blunt nails picked at the edge of the paper and Dean was a bit distracted by what this chick was doing. Suddenly, the page crinkled almost by itself and then it seemed to turn itself. "Here we are," she stated knowingly.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, sincerely curious but trying to hide it with a slight sarcasm.

"The best and only solution to your dilemma is to learn the lesson. Experience life as a woman, things that will happen to you now that would not have happened when you were a man. Your brother might be able to help you."

"The hell, you say? How long will I be stuck like this?"

The book closed with a snap and Dean tried to remember Alec actually reading it but couldn't. This was all too mystical for her liking. "As long as it takes," the gypsy stated, "if you want to be a man again so badly, then be a woman first."

* * *

The sky was blue. A cyan mist lingered above the world and melted into a pinkish glow somewhere near the horizon. The short hand was nearing the seven by the time the Winchesters were ready to get going from creepy and suspicious. Sam had insisted on driving the Impala, saying that it was embarrassing being chauffeured around by a little woman with fucked up hair and a deadly scowl on her face. Within the next five seconds of that statement, that deadly scowl was directed at Sasquatch. With a "fuck you," they switched places and pulled out of Jerry Smith's drive way.

"So...To be a man, be a woman?"

Head lolling boredly against the seat back, Dean nodded something like _I could care less_. "Do you see a point in that one?"

"No, but I don't get what you said she did," Sam stated. "She read a blank page?" He just couldn't get past that one little detail, could he?

"That's not the point, Sam!" _Damn it, can he not focus for two seconds?_ "She told me to experience things as a woman. I think I have to reach an understanding or something. It's weird, but I do understand. I mean, did you notice the way that couple sort of ignored me. They acted like I was only there for decoration, like a piece of furniture or something. That has never happened to me before."

Making a wry face, Sam turned into the parking lot of the motel. "And you think that that has something to do with you being female?"

"I don't know, probably. C'mon, even you're acting all weird on me. That whole fixing my hair thing you pulled earlier, I'm gonna kick your ass for that." As soon as the car was parked, Dean took the keys and got out. "And I really don't appreciate that bullshit about a woman driving you around."

"…Sorry…" Sam opened his door and threw himself into the open air of the night with a sort of relieved sigh.

"I just wonder how much it's going to take for me to experience before I either lose my mind or this fine body." She looked at herself in the reflection on the window and set to testing the firmness of her well-toned form just as she'd done when she'd woken up neutered.

Clearing his throat, Sam wandered away towards the door. "Okay, you do that I'm going to take a shower. I'll just leave you with your self a little solo action."

Flinging a middle finger in her brother's direction, Dean mocked him sarcastically before sticking her tongue out. "Stupid boy," she muttered as the wooden, motel-room door closed firmly. Then, she realized how outrageously girly that sounded and she flinched. _Oh god, I'm going female!_ she thought to herself as though it was the worst thing in the known world. "Today just sucks…"

There wasn't much of a moment of silence to take in the stillness and coolness of the early evening. Just a few seconds later, a very familiar voice peeked over her shoulder. "Hey, sweetheart," it said slyly. Or rather, as if it was trying extremely hard to be sly of insinuating. "Remember me?"

Dean didn't have to turn around, but she did anyway. "Kind of hard to forget a smell like that," she stated harshly. This was that greasy drunk from before who'd tried to touch the car. This time, however, he had company. Typical. "Can I help you, Ozzy?"

"Sure you can. We didn't quite hit it off last time we met, so I's wondering if you wanted to try again."

"You weren't kidding," a buff guy to his right said. His face looked like it had been on the wrong end of the stick more than three times. "She _is _pretty."

"She is also not interested," Dean snapped. She took a few steps forward to try and reach the trunk, but the moment she did, Ozzy, Jekyl and Hyde here had moved just enough near her to block her way. "So get out of here, screw, vanish." Such a small, feisty woman was less intimidating than she was attractive.

"Hey, now, I think you owe me a little something for scratching up my face the other day." Ozzy motioned toward an ugly scab over his right cheekbone.

"Wait a minute, it ain't my fault that the asphalt thought you looked as ugly I think you do. Maybe you should think twice before you touch my car."

Jekyl, with the funky tattoo of a roadrunner on his bare shoulder, snickered lightly and stepped even closer. Now was when Dean should have been backing up, but that hand landed on the sleek black of his Impala's rear end. "You mean this car?" the bastard asked teasingly.

Out of nowhere, an ankle came down on the wrist of the opposing hand and a sound crack had Jekyl screaming in pain. Dean drew her foot back towards her and adopted a strong stance even for one so small. The deadly glare on her face was more intimidating than it was comical, so why the hell was Hyde laughing? "Try that again," she dared darkly, "I fucking dare you to try that just one more time."

Jekyl held his now badly bruised, if not broken limb and Ozzy made an angry face. "You know what, bitch?" he began heatedly, "You're becoming just a bit more trouble than you're worth."

* * *

Sam was so close to the rapture of a nice, hot, steaming shower. He wanted so badly to be able to relax and ignore the trials of the day with his daily medicine. It was his release from all things supernatural, weird and just plain wrong. He needed it, craved it and when the day wound down, nothing could stand between him and his quiet time.

When he just barely had his shirt and shoes off, he was proven wrong. A scream sliced the air harshly, piercing the door with vicious clarity. It wasn't a cry for help or anything like that. This was a battle cry and judging from the tone and intonation, it was Dean despite the odd pitch that Sam just couldn't grow accustomed to. Re-zipping his pants, he moved to the window in a fluid movement and glanced out of the curtain. He didn't need more than that to grab the pistol from under his pillow and rush out the door.

The flash of action was filled with Dean pressed back against a large-yet-stocky guy with one too many ear piercings. Arms wrapped tightly around her thin frame and a hand cupped her mouth probably because of that scream she'd let loose. Another, slightly smaller man was trying to subdue her flailing legs and was for the most part succeeding. None of this was really unnerving until it got down to the fact that the third man had his hand where it just should not have been.

"Hey!" Sam shouted, cocking the gun and aiming just far enough to the left of Dean to be safe. "Get the hell away from her!" He was never going to get used to calling Dean "her."

Dean squealed most angrily from behind the fat hand over her jaw. Wriggling uncontrollably, she kicked and squirmed to get free. This was one end of the gun she did not want to be on, no matter how much she trusted Sam's aim.

The drunk one—well, the one that smelled like alcohol—raised one hand warily. "Hey there, calm down now." He obviously did not know how much shit he was in for having his hand up Dean's skirt. Then again, when he snapped his fingers at the man over his shoulder, that hand over Sam's brother's mouth twisted awkwardly to also cover her nose.

Eye twitching just slightly, Sam moved his finger just a half inch away from the trigger but the better-looking of the two lackies noticed and smirked. A very unsettling feeling grew in a lump in the pit of his stomach and he switched his gaze back to his brother. Watching her struggle against the massive arms and fat hand holding her still made Sam desperate. "Okay, what do you want?" he asked, certain there was something he could use to buy them off.

For the first time, the big one with the tight grip on Dean peeked his ugly mug out from behind the girl. "Why don't you start with putting down the gun before I suffocate her?" he snapped, slightly shaky. This obviously wasn't his deal.

"Yeah right…" Sam scoffed lightly and took a step closer. "You're really starting to piss me off."

Dean tried to cry out some sort of protest, but she couldn't get air. Her head thrashed from side to side almost of its own accord in a blatant attempt to wriggle free. Eyes going glazed, she made a last, whining cry before nothing else would come out. She wanted this to be over. She swore up and down that she was never going outside again. That hand under her shirt was enough to convince her that the city was not a good place for a woman. The hand on her mouth pulled on her to bare her neck slightly.

"Let her go," Sam began slowly, carefully, "Let her go and I'll let you walk away."

For a moment, the drunk one faltered in his confidence. Then he smiled stupidly. "You don't have the balls to pull the trigger, pretty boy," he taunted.

Before he even finished the last word of his statement, Sam lowered his aim and shot a warning at the better-looking guy's feet. He happened to be the farthest away from Dean. "Really?" Sam raised the gun again and took just one more step towards them. "I'm telling you one more time: put her down and walk away right now or you won't be able to walk away at all."

Three pairs of eyes went wide, and one pair fluttered open and then closed. A moment of silence passed with Sam's smoking barrel glaring lethal hate at the men who had even thought to touch his brother like that. Over-protectiveness finally outweighed his anger at being deprived of his nightly reprieve and he was officially furious. That rage sunk into his eyes and the men could see it all the way down to his trigger finger.

In a few seconds, Dean was lying on the ground and the parking lot was absent three men. Dark night chased them away, tails set firmly between their legs. Sam was that quick in rushing to Dean's side. She was a bit unresponsive at first, her breaths coming and going in deep gasps. Those little, blue eyes fluttered almost dangerously even as Sam tapped her face and lifted her shoulders to try and get her attention.

"Dean," he called urgently. She wasn't quite unconscious, but the lack of oxygen had obviously had an effect on her. "Dean…say something, will you?" Suddenly, Sam's heart was beating one hundred miles an hour.

Her thin limbs twitched and then moved sluggishly around her. "Sam?" she breathed in confusion. "Why are you yelling at me?" The strained voice barely reached above a mumble.

"Oh thank god." Sighing with relief, Sam took her in his arms and held her against him. All of that confident, threatening composure melted away to worry and concern. The gun clattered to the ground to make way for the strong embrace he subjected his brother to. At first it didn't matter that he was half dressed and the air around him bit pretty cold. Then he realized that Dean was stiller than she'd been before.

Pulling her away from him, he looked at her straight in the face. "Um…" she began awkwardly, "I'm not that out of it. Don't get all touchy feely, just get me inside."

* * *

When Sam got back to the motel after trouncing around through the mud of that old trailer park, he wanted sleep. Before that, however, he wanted a shower. This was the fourth time in a week that he'd searched that place, and the first time it had rained on him. Now it was official. Whatever trace that could have been there of where the gypsies had gone was washed away with the storm. He vowed on his college education that he would never go back there again. Shower, food, then sleep: that was the plan.

Just before he opened the bathroom door, he realized that the shower was already running. Dean wasn't lounging on the bed searching repeatedly through the books she'd borrowed from Alec for some sort of information on his…her dilemma. Two and two equaled "Dean Is in the shower," which meant that Sam would have to wait. That sucked.

"Dean!" he called, knocking firmly on the door.

"What?" Three moments to adjust once again to the foreign pitch of the disembodied voice coming through the door. Sometimes Sam forgot that he had a sister for a while, so he stuffed away the unreasonable shock at the voice. "What do you want?"

With an unhappy sigh, he ran a hand over his tired face. "Nothing, just…can you hurry up?"

"Hold your horses, stingy." Even though the intonations and style of speech were still completely Dean, the pitch stood out. The hallow, reverberating acoustics of the tile bathroom isolated the sharp squeak of her voice. Sam felt muted in comparison. He slammed a stubborn fist on the door in protest of the bathroom Nazi. "I'll be out when I'm done."

"Hail Dean, restroom Hitler extraordinaire," Sam snapped as he walked over to his bed. He heard a sarcastic "yeah, yeah" through the wall, but he ignored that.

Ever since that incident in the parking lot, Dean has been loath to leave to motel room. She had stubbornly decided that until she was a he again, she wouldn't go outside for anything at all. Sam had this theory that even if the Impala was in dire peril, she would stay inside. It wasn't exactly a trauma-induced sort of thing. She wasn't scared of another experience like that one with Ozzy, Jekyl and Hyde, she was certain that she wouldn't let it happen again. What bugged her was that it had happened at all.

"If I were still a man," she'd claimed, "no one would have touched me."

As an addition, her determination to fix this thing before the week ended was stronger than ever. It wasn't really going well, but Sam had become just as determined to rid himself of an annoying young woman. He completely preferred an annoying brother. There was just something about the routine of a brother that fit and with this last week, Sam's life went off kilter. He sat down at the desk and opened his laptop for some pointless, aimless research. He didn't get very far.

So tired and engrossed in blue light, Sam didn't see or hear the door open or the shower shut off. In fact, he barely noticed his brother come up behind him until the steam of hot water licked the back of his neck. Starting slightly, he turned and backed the few inches away from Dean that he possibly could in the limited space that the chair provided. "Hey," he began awkwardly.

"I'm done," she stated. Her eyes were locked on the screen. "What are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for you…" Sam's eyes couldn't help but travel over the wet, bare shoulders down to her towel-wrapped torso. Blinking a few times, he shoved away the blur of vision caused by computer screen to see better. He definitely wasn't looking at Dean's face and he knew that she noticed. Then he realized how that he had just said sounded and he blushed a bright red. "I mean, I'm waiting for you to get out of the bathroom."

Smirking, the woman leaned forward teasingly. "What's this, Sammy?" she snickered, "Do I make you nervous?"

Lifting a hand, he rubbed his hot pink cheek and attempted to look away in his indignity. Dean followed his gaze and pushed his head back up to look him in the eyes. "Hey, stop doing that, geek." She stepped away at last and went to the duffle bag under her bed. "I have a theory, I need you to listen to it."

He shook his head once to clear his mind and turned in his chair so that the desk covered his lap. There was just a little something there caused by steamy, warm and sexy that he just didn't want Dean to know about. Thankfully she hadn't seen it. "What is it?"

"I've been thinking on the whole 'experience' idea and how I _have _been feeling what a woman would." As she spoke, she ruffled through the duffle bag for something to wear for pjs. "I didn't realize how many people still discriminated against women, for instance. Man, that sucks. But I also noticed that the whole 'experience' thing is getting me nowhere. I'm still a chick, in case you hadn't noticed. So I thought maybe we should be taking it more literally. Not really an mental experience, but a physical one." Pulling out a tank top and a pair of boxers, she let the towel fall to the ground.

With a moment to clear his throat, Sam started to shut down his laptop. "And by physical, you mean?"

"Come on, Sam. You aren't that asexual, are you?" Just when she was about to put the shorts on, she stopped. She sat on the bed and gazed at Sam's back as he sat in front of the dark computer. "I mean sex."

Just by the way he was sitting, it was painfully obvious that he wasn't comfortable with that subject matter. He almost glanced over his shoulder, but stopped himself just in time. His mind was stuck on that first morning that Dean woke up a woman. Sam couldn't forget the look of her body standing naked in front of the mirror. _I shouldn't be thinking like that_, he scolded himself. _He's my brother, damn it_.

Shifting uncomfortably in the seat, Sam reached up with a slightly shaky hand and closed the laptop. His blood flushed from his face down his chest and he didn't let himself think past that. It wasn't a good idea to let that get away from him. And that Dean had just suggested sex…wasn't helping a bit. Then again, maybe she hadn't suggested it at all and Sam was just hearing what he wanted. _But I don't want that_, he told himself again and again. His body proved him a liar.

"You mean you're…" His throat mysteriously closed up on him, so he paused before trying again. The heat in his head was hard to contain. "You mean, you're going to have sex to break the curse?"

"I have a feeling it might work," Dean said casually, she questioning stare locked on the other's tense back. She stood and left her clothes on the bed. In a flash, she was right behind her brother, curious gaze traveling around his stiff form to his closed eyes. "The thing is I'm…I'm not too comfortable with finding some random guy for sex. I'm not too experienced in flirting with guys."

Coughing awkwardly, Sam chose not to respond. He didn't expect the close proximity, but he ignored it.

"Still, the idea of me having straight sex with a _man_ would definitely be a new experience." She was purposely saying all of this in his ear. Her evil plan, yeah that was being set into motion. "And Sam…you're the only one I trust right now."

Abruptly, Sam jumped, turning, pushing her back firmly but gently away from him. "No," he snapped. "Don't even suggest that."

"Why not?" She was pouting, almost as adorably pitiful as Sam's puppy pout he'd used until he turned twelve.

"It's wrong," he replied plainly.

Dean scoffed and straightened her back. It was in the next few seconds that Sam realized he was staring straight at her naked body. With a deep swallow to convince himself that this was just some male reaction to an enticing female, he strained to look away. "You obviously don't think it's _that_ wrong," Dean teased. She motioned to his lap where quite the sizeable lump was forming.

Covering himself in something like embarrassment, Sam rolled his eyes. "Not the point."

"Yes it is the point, douche bag." Taking some extreme initiative, Dean moved his hand, grabbed him with her very unfeminine strength and pushed him against the back of the chair. "I'm not just trying to be an ass right now. I seriously think this could be the one thing to work in a sea of things that haven't!"

Glaring, Sam sat stock-still trying to sort through where the yes's and the no's should go in his mind. He didn't keep her from touching when he felt hands on his chest because let's just face it: he's wanted this. The thing was, of the many sins that the Winchesters commit every day, Sam drew the line at incest. "No," he insisted, hands reaching for Dean's wrists to stop her.

"Yes," the woman snapped. She pulled away from his grasp and ran a harsh stroke of fingers over the crotch of his jeans. "Don't say another word or God help me I'll kick your ass. And He just might…"

There was no humor in Sam's reaction. He groaned softly at her adamant hands roaming over him and the statement just flittered past her ears without him hearing it at all. Still, he didn't say anything else. As thin fingers undid his jeans, he contemplated how fucked up this was in comparison to other things they'd done. Hands sliding up his shirt, over bare skin, he couldn't find the right category for the level of _shouldn't be done_ that this would be. His imagination filled with the image of God crying and demons laughing. Then, lips attached to his and he was lost.

A tongue forced it's way into his mouth and she slid his shirt up to his pecs. If you asked, Dean probably couldn't tell why she wanted to do this with _Sam_ and not anyone else. Sure, the trust was there, but that was a bogus reason and she knew it. Mostly, she wanted to believe that even though she was a woman, she still went for women and thus wouldn't risk a potential long-lasting relationship with a guy or the ever-threatening idea that she would become gay. For some reason, Sam kept her safe from that.

Sliding onto her brother's lap, she broke the kiss for only the amount of time it took to pull his shirt off over his head. Carefully running her fingertips over Sam's firm-toned chest, she dragged her teeth over his bottom lip, liking that he moaned even just that quietly.

It took Sam just a few moments to adjust from "oh god gross" to "want this so bad." Hesitantly, he reached up and touched his shy hands on Dean's back. Soft, wet skin shivered and his gentle, large digits stroked up her shoulders. One tangled into the hair on the back of her head and the other arm wrapped around her to hold her close.

"That's it," Dean encouraged. Her mouth pressed in various places along his jaw and ear, sometimes biting softly to tease that sensitive flesh. With quite a practiced hand, she slipped into his pants and his boxers and pressed the warmth of her palm against the heat of his erection.

Everything moved quicker after that. A flurry of motion resulted in Sam's shoes coming off and then his pants following that. Dean guided one of his hands to her chest and he kissed her more fervently, holding her head hard against his. Fire lit up behind his closed eyes and his entire body tingled with something like dastardly excitement. It was almost as if he feared he'd be caught doing something wrong at any moment and the adrenaline gave him more of a boost to take command.

All of the sudden, Sam held Dean around the back and crushed her tight to his chest as he stood. Only slightly alarmed, Dean wrapped her legs around him and held tight, still kissing him breathlessly. Air fought its way out of her lungs into Sam's breathing space in the shape of quiet, desperate whines. She concentrated on Sam's bare flesh brushing against her breasts in the few steps that he took to the bed—his bed, not hers. He didn't quite drop her, but she hit the comforter quite sharply before tall, lanky Sam came with her.

He pressed her down with giant paws on her hips and an insistent push of his mouth against her throat. "You sure…" he began on a low pant, "you wanna do this?"

Gripping hard to his shaggy hair, Dean forced herself even harder onto the mattress. The more Sam's mouth descended, the more she pushed that body against his mouth. "Yes," she snapped harshly, almost as if she were appalled that he'd question it. "God yes, Sammy."

Teeth set sharply into her nipple and she squealed and squirmed in response. He held her down tight and lapped the reddening, hard flesh to sooth it a bit. "It's Sam." The low growl pulsed against soft skin until he lifted his head and looked Dean in the eyes. For a moment, he wondered how much Sam mattered at the moment. That aching, throbbing sex organ between his legs wanted to convince him to let it go.

Smirking lightly, Dean bent a knee and pressed her thigh hard against his groin. "Sam…" she repeated.

He groaned loudly and rolled against the opposing limb. Ardor rushed up from his dick to his mind, to his dick again and he was quickly panting like a dog at a marathon. His hands had long since let go of her and dug in tight fists against the comforter. Gulping mouthfuls of air at a time, he leaned down to press a sloppy kiss wherever it landed.

She wriggled just a bit to get her legs situated around his hips once more. Arms clinging tightly to his shoulders, she pulled him down to her in a mixed embrace. "Want you," she insisted firmly, "Stop screwing around and do it already." Just before she finished saying that, her entire form wound up tight as a bowstring.

Sam whimpered ever so slightly as he pushed himself into that tight heat. Hesitance laced his movements and he stopped when he felt her tighten in pain. "Sorry," he grunted uncertainly.

"No, I'm okay." Relaxing as much as possible, Dean opened herself to the strange sensation. Her heels nudged against his lower back to move him farther. Sure it felt odd, but it wasn't that it hurt. "It's just…different." She lay her head back with her eyes closed and panted at the motion inside her.

While he tried to be a gentle as possible, Sam found this all to consuming. Dean's short hair as it brushed against his face was the only thing left to remind Sam that this was supposed to be a man he was being intimate with. Not only a man, this was his brother. The thought made him flinch slightly, but that action made Dean groan loudly. She dug her short nails into his shoulder blades and whispered something into his ear that seemed like the basic equivalent to "keep moving." He did his best.

Dean found it hard to breathe with the intensity of Sam _inside_ of her pulsing against tender sensitivity. Her grip was thin and getting thinner the faster Sam thrust, but she couldn't bring herself to tell him to slow down. It occurred to her that this was the best idea she'd had in a long time. Even if it didn't work, it was such a great feeling. "Come on," she encouraged on an airy gasp. "Yes, Sammy, yes!"

Face buried deep in the crook of her neck, Sam squinted his eyes shut and ignored the nickname for once. His hips pounded a fraction faster and his arm sneaked around her back to hold her just a bit closer, if that were at all possible. Not even a hair's breadth between them, the both of them found something like familiarity in the closeness. Sam tried not to let that scare him.


End file.
